Lifeblood
by InfinityStar
Summary: The death of a prominent cardiologist draws Goren and Eames into a case that puts both their lives in grave danger. This is a collaborative effort with RoadrunnerGER.
1. A Birthday Surprise

**A/N: This is another idea I've been bandying about for awhile, and Roadrunner was so excited about the premise we agreed to collaborate on it. So enjoy!**

* * *

_In New York City's war on crime, the worst criminal offenders are pursued by the detectives of the Major Case Squad. These are their stories..._

A yellow cab pulled up to the curb in front of an upscale apartment building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. A young man emerged from the cab after settling the fare and went to the trunk, removing two suitcases as a woman about the same age slid gracefully out of the back seat and waited for him on the sidewalk. He closed the trunk and waved to the cabbie, who drove off.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, he looked up at the building and smiled. "Home, sweet home," he said, taking a deep breath of the city air.

The young woman laughed and picked up her bag from the sidewalk beside him. "You can stand here on the sidewalk all night if you want to, Floyd. I'm going inside."

With a laugh, he grabbed his bag and ran after her. "Wait up, Laney! We're both surprising Dad, remember?"

"Well, come on then, little brother. I'm not going to wait all night. Dad's birthday only lasts till midnight."

"Then he turns into a pumpkin?"

"No, then _you_ turn into a pumpkin." She grinned at the doorman. "Hello, William!"

"Laney! Floyd! Home for your dad's birthday?"

"Yep," Floyd answered. "If I don't turn into a pumpkin in the elevator."

Laney ruffled her brother's unruly red hair. "Come on, carrot top."

"Coming, Freckles! Later, William!" Floyd called as he followed his sister to the elevator.

As they rode up to the seventeenth floor, Laney let down her strawberry blonde hair and shook it out. Then she pulled it back into a ponytail. "What did you get Dad for his birthday?"

"That bestseller he's been wanting. You?"

"A new stethoscope. Didn't Mom tell you Mitzi chewed up his good one last week?"

"Oh, yeah..." He chuckled. "Dad's gonna make stew out of that dog one day."

The doors opened and they headed down the hall. Floyd pulled out his keys. "I hope he's home. We should have asked William."

"It's going to be a surprise either way."

He pushed the door open. "Yeah, I guess it will."

A few moments later a scream penetrated the thick wood of the closed door. "Nooooo! Daddy!!!!!"

"Laney? What the hell...? Oh, my God! Dad!!!"


	2. Tragic Circumstances

The first thing Goren and Eames noticed when they arrived on the scene was their captain, sitting between a young couple, talking to them. Their proximity indicated familiarity and the woman's head was resting on Ross' shoulder. He had a comforting arm around her and his other hand rested on the young man's knee, another gesture of comfort.

Eames looked at her partner. "Would you say the captain knows them?"

Goren's only reply was a soft groan as he headed over to the body. Let Eames deal with Ross; he was more comfortable with the victim.

Elizabeth Rodgers looked up from the body as Goren approached, eyes expectant. She stood and said, "Stanley Torrington, age 44, a cardiologist on staff at NYU. Multiple stab wounds. His kids came home from college for the weekend as a birthday surprise. Happy birthday, Stanley."

For a long moment he stood there, staring down at Stanley Torrington, his light blue robe dark with blood, laying open to reveal the knife wounds that took his life. His auburn hair had streaks of gray at the temples. Empty green eyes stared into eternity as a technician carefully took photographs. A glass of wine sat on the coffee table beside an open bottle and a platter of cheese and crackers. A birthday card was propped open behind the platter; the script on the front read: _To my wonderful husband..._

_He came home and made himself comfortable, waiting for his wife to come home…and met a killer instead,_ Goren thought.

Taking a deep breath, he distanced himself from the man in front of him, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and knelt down to start his examination.

The man's head was untouched. He leaned down to catch of whiff from the open mouth. Wine. No surprise. Turning his attention to the bloody torso, he began counting. _Fourteen, fifteen...hello...what's this?_

Sticking a finger into one of the wounds, he pulled out a blood-soaked ribbon, about eight inches long and green beneath the bloodstains. He looked up at Rodgers, then shifted his gaze to his partner, who was approaching from where Ross was guiding the two young people into another room, the young woman sobbing into his jacket.

"Having fun?" Eames asked, indicating the ribbon dangling from his fingers.

He draped the ribbon over his hand and studied it as Eames pulled out an evidence bag. The ribbon had to have some significance, a message he had to decipher. He placed it into the bag and returned to the body, examining the man's hands and arms. "No defensive wounds...he knew his killer?"

"Or he was surprised...overwhelmed and killed before he could react," Eames suggested.

He nodded, turning his attention back to the body. "Whoever killed him was angry. Seventeen stab wounds between his shoulders and his hips. These three..." He indicated three wounds on the +chest, gently probing one with a finger. "Penetrated the sternum and hit his heart. They were the lethal wounds." His eyes shifted to Rodgers for confirmation. She nodded. "The rest was overkill...anger..."

He trailed off, eyes lingering on the body but focused at a point beyond it. Eames knew that look. He was thinking. With a shake of his head, he was back. "The young couple with Ross?"

"The victim's children, Floyd and Melanie. They both attend Yale and came home for the weekend for Dad's birthday. They found him when they came into the apartment. Neither of them know where their mother is."

"Let's take a look at the rest of the place."

He stood and let his eyes linger on the murdered physician. Then he shifted his gaze to Rodgers, who said, "You'll have my report tomorrow."

He nodded, snapping off his bloody gloves and dropping them into a disposal bag set up near the couch. As Eames stepped up to his side, he asked, "Uh...Ross?"

"Friend of the family. He's known those kids since they were my nephew's age."

"Great."

He crossed the room in the opposite direction from the one Ross had taken Laney and Floyd. With a sigh, Eames followed him.

The kitchen was immaculate. Goren wandered around the room, looking but not touching. There was a spoon and an empty bowl in the sink. At the stove, he looked into the nearly empty pot that sat on the back burner. He leaned closer, catching a whiff of the contents. "Clam chowder."

Eames was right behind him. "Sounds delicious... well, it was his birthday after all." She examined the counter, checking the kitchen knives sitting in their proper places in a wooden block. "All the kitchen knives are present and accounted for." She turned to the fridge. Several magnets held pictures and notes. "Friday morning, an appointment for Mrs. Torrington at Danilo's... that's a coiffeur."

He looked into the trash, fishing out a can. "Clam chowder from a can...want to rethink the birthday dinner thing? He was home alone on his birthday...where's his wife?"

"Good question, Sherlock," Eames replied. "There's no appointment note for today here," she mused. "And no 'Gone to the store--be back soon' note, either."

As if on cue, a commotion at the front door caught their attention. "This is my home! What's going on? Stan!!"

Eames heard her partner spin around. In several long strides he was out of the kitchen again, intercepting the lady of the house before she could burst into the crime scene. "Mrs. Torrington?"

She looked at him. "What is going on here?" she demanded.

She was trim and elegant, the picture of an upperclass housewife. "I'm Detective Goren. This is my partner, Detective Eames. Uh, there's been an incident involving your husband."

"What kind of incident? Was he drunk?"

He gently took her arm, leaning closer so she could hear his voice, soft and reassuring. "Uh, no, it doesn't appear that way. Mrs. Torrington, do you know if your husband had any visitors this evening?"

"Not that I know of, why? I took Mitzi for her weekly grooming appointment and then I was going to spend a quiet evening at home with my husband, celebrating his birthday."

Goren heard voices in the living room and he glanced at his partner. Ross appeared in the entryway. "Melanie..."

"Danny! What are you doing here? Why is my home crawling with police officers?"

"My detectives haven't been hassling you, have they?"

"Of course not. He's sweet. Now, what is going on?"

Eames stepped around her partner to address the confused widow. _Sweet_, she thought, smiling to herself in amusement. "Mrs. Torrington," she said, her face a mask of professionalism. "Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to surprise him on his birthday?"

"I-I don't know...what's going on here?" She was starting to get frantic. "Danny?"

Ross came forward and put an arm around her shoulders. "Melanie...Stan died this evening."

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she went limp in his arms and Goren jumped forward to help him support her dead weight. "Let's take her into her bedroom. Down the hall that way," Ross said, indicating the direction with a nod of his head.

Ross released her limp body into Goren's arms once he realized the detective did not intend to drag the lady down the hallway between them. He met the man's eyes and a flicker of gratitude crossed his face. Goren answered with a brief nod and waited for Ross to lead the way.

He carried the unconscious woman to her room and set her gently on her bed. When he stepped back, Ross sat down beside her, slipping his hand into hers.

"Um…I'll go back…t-to the scene," Goren mumbled.

Ross nodded absently. When Goren stepped into the hall again, he spotted Eames, waiting for him near the foyer. He approached her and she asked, "How is she?"

"She'll be all right. Ross is with her."

"Let's talk with the kids," she said, nodding toward the room beyond the living room.

He indicated that she should go first and she smirked at him, then headed across the apartment. The two young people were clearly in shock from the evening's events. The young woman's complexion resembled milky glass, further emphasized by her many freckles. Her brother was equally shaken, his normally pale skin almost translucent.

Goren remained standing near the door while Eames went to the couch where the young people were sitting, addressing them softly. "I'm Detective Eames; this is Detective Goren. We're sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," the young man answered. "I'm Floyd. This is my sister Melanie."

Goren had wandered to the fireplace. He looked around the room. "This is the sitting room?"

"Yes," Floyd answered. "At least, that's what Mom calls it."

"Do either of you live here?"

"We both do," Laney answered. "When we're not at school."

"And you came home today..."

"For Dad's birthday."

"What happened when you got here?" Eames asked.

Floyd answered, "We wanted to surprise him. Laney came into the living room first, and she screamed."

Alex looked at the young woman, raising an eyebrow. Laney drew in an uneven breath. "I saw him...just...laying there...all...butchered!" she sobbed as her brother tightened his arm protectively around her shoulders. "I don't remember making a sound, but I wanted to help him. It was too late. He already was dead."

Goren was studying a family portrait over the fireplace. "How did you know he was dead?"

Laney looked at the tall man by the fireplace. "I'm in my third year of medical school, and I volunteer in three emergency rooms. He had no pulse, detective. He was dead."

Goren nodded, accepting her assessment. "Medical school," he mused. Then he looked at Floyd. "And you?"

Floyd slowly turned to look at him. "Um... I'm studying English..." He looked back at Eames. "I graduated last year with a bachelor's in English with a psychology minor. I just started grad school. I'm gonna be a professor."

Goren continued his tour of the room, deferring to his partner to continue the questioning. Eames acknowledged his deference with a barely perceptible nod of her head. "That was when you called 911?" she asked Floyd.

Laney answered for her brother. "I was the one who called."

Eames nodded, then asked, "What did you do next?"

Floyd shrugged. "We waited."

Goren looked at Laney again. "Did you touch anything or move anything?"

"No, detective. I'm smarter than that. I want you to find whoever did this to my father."

A small smile touched his mouth. "Did you, uh, notice anyone leaving the building when you got here?"

Laney shook her head and looked at her brother. "No. We didn't notice anyone. You would have to talk to William about that. He keeps track of everyone who comes and goes."

Floyd ran his hand through his hair and looked at his sister. "Um... you know... I thought I saw Uncle Barney's car when our cab pulled up. But I'm not sure."

Goren caught his partner's eye. "Uncle Barney?"

Floyd nodded. "Dad's best friend. Barney Cooper."

Goren watched his partner write down the name. "Can you think of anyone else who might have stopped by, maybe to wish your father happy birthday?"

Floyd shrugged. "No, I can't think of anyone else."

Laney agreed, then let out a soft gasp. "What about Grandma and Grandpa?"

"They wanted to come over on Saturday, I think," Floyd said to her rather than to the detectives. "One of Dad's work days would be too late for them..." Then he gasped. "My God! We gotta tell them!"

Laney groaned. "Oh...this is going to kill Grandma." She looked around. "Where did Mom and Danny go?"

Goren turned fully away from the fireplace. "She's laying down. Captain Ross is with her."

Laney buried her face in her hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

Floyd wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Shhh.." he soothed. "Shhh."

And she cried in her brother's arms.

Goren motioned to his partner. They were done. Their shock and their grief was genuine. He was convinced, at least for now, that these kids were not involved in their father's death, and they had gotten everything they would get from them.

The two detectives met Ross in the foyer. The captain looked at them expectantly.

"We're done here and going to interview the doorman now," Eames explained to him.

"Did you get anything useful from the kids?"

"Floyd told us that Dr. Torrington's friend, Barney Cooper, might have been here. We'll confirm that with the doorman and talk to him tomorrow."

She looked at Goren. He was already far away, lost in his thoughts. Ross nodded, also not missing the distant look on Goren's face. "And your plan after talking to the doorman?"

"Other than talking to Mr. Cooper, I don't know. We'll see what the doorman tells us," Eames said gravely.

"Doctor Cooper," Ross corrected. "He's a nephrologist at NYU." He sighed heavily. "All right, detectives. Get going. And I want to be kept apprised of every step of this investigation. Do you understand me, Eames?"

"Of course, sir."

Goren didn't really pay attention to the conversation between Ross and his partner. His mind was already plowing three steps ahead of their investigation, trying to figure out what had happened that would possibly have led Stanley Torrington to his death. A robbery gone bad did not feel right to him. Something else was going on, but what? When Eames nudged him, he looked at her, his eyes quickly clearing. He raised his eyebrows, conveying a silent question.

"Let's go," she said, heading toward the elevator. Glancing uneasily toward the captain, he followed her to the elevator. Once the doors closed, he looked at her. "Doctor Cooper?"

Eames chuckled. He didn't miss much, even lost in thought. "What's going on in your mind? Have you made any connections yet?"

"This wasn't a robbery gone bad, Eames. Something...happened. We need to confirm that Dr. Cooper actually did go up to visit Dr. Torrington."

They exited the elevator and approached the doorman. Standing just outside the doors, dressed impeccably in a doorman's uniform, William was an older man, stocky with white hair and a neatly trimmed gray mustache. Eames estimated him to be in his early sixties. As they approached him, she called to him. "William?"

"Yes, ma'am. How may I help you?"

She pulled out her badge. "I'm Detective Eames. This is my partner, Detective Goren. We need to ask you some questions."

Goren studied the doorman. "When did Dr. Torrington get home this evening?"

"Tonight he came home early," William answered. "It was a few minutes after 6."

"And Mrs. Torrington?"

William didn't have to give the question much thought. "I got her a cab when she left around half past 3. She was on her way to run errands and take her dog Mitzi to be groomed. She did not return until after you were called."

Eames raised her eyebrows. "She took her dog to run errands?"

William gave her a smile. "Mrs. Torrington never goes anywhere without Mitzi, detective."

Eames met her partner's eyes for a moment before asking, "Did Dr. Torrington have any visitors after he got home?"

"Only Dr. Cooper. He was here around seven."

"Does Dr. Cooper visit often?" Goren asked.

"He used to come around two or three times a week, but during the last month or so, he hasn't visited as often," William said.

"Who works when you don't, Mr. Parker?"

"That would be Thomas. Thomas Klavan," William answered.

"We will need his address and number, if you have them," Eames said.

William nodded, entering the building and crossing to a large desk at the far side of the foyer. He opened a book, found what he was looking for, and wrote the information on a piece of paper, which he handed to her. As Eames thanked William for his cooperation, Goren looked out the doors toward the street, still stumbling over the fact that a prominent doctor was dead and he had no grasp yet on why.


	3. More Complications

Early the next morning, Eames strolled into the squadroom to find a cup of coffee and a paper bag sitting on her desk. Her partner, however, was nowhere to be seen. Settling at her desk, she opened the bag and looked inside. She smiled: a plain bagel with cream cheese. She looked around the squadroom until she spotted him entering from across the large room, studying one of several printouts in his hands. He made his way to his desk, lost in thought. "What do you have there?" Eames asked as he dropped into his chair, but he remained engrossed in the printout. "Goren!"

He looked up, confused for a moment. "Eames...good morning."

"Good morning to you, too," she chuckled. She nodded at the papers in his hands. "That's not the coroner's report already, is it?"

"Uh, no. I contacted the AMA for information about Dr. Torrington and Dr. Cooper." He passed the papers across the desks to her. "They went to Yale together, did their residencies at NYU at the same time...their statistics are almost interchangeable, except that Dr. Torrington went into cardiology and Dr. Cooper went into nephrology."

"So Dr. Cooper may be able to tell us things about Dr. Torrington that even his wife may not know," Eames suggested. "I'm assuming he's first on our list of people to talk to today."

He nodded. "Yes. He has office hours at his Upper West Side office today."

"Sounds like a plan." She sipped at her coffee again, then she smiled at her partner. "By the way, thanks for breakfast."

He smiled at her. "You're welcome."

Both detectives looked up when Ross approached their desks. "Talk to me. What do you have?"

"You know about as much as we do, Captain," Eames said. "Dr. Torrington apparently came home, had a light dinner and settled in the living room to relax and presumably wait for his wife to come home. His killer must have surprised him; there were no defensive wounds on his body."

"He may have known his killer," Goren offered. "And there was a green ribbon inside the deepest of his wounds."

"A ribbon? What is the significance of that?"

Goren shrugged and averted his eyes toward his partner. "We don't know yet."

Eames added, "He only had one visitor that the doorman noted. We're going to talk with him this morning."

Ross nodded. "I know this family. I knew the victim. Get the guy who did this."

Goren didn't look at him. "We plan to," he said tersely.

Eames nodded her agreement. Ross looked from one partner to the other. "Keep me informed," he declared, then turned and headed for his office.

Eames took a bite of her bagel as he shuffled his papers together and stuffed them into his binder, getting to his feet. "Let's see what Dr. Cooper has to say," he said. Seeing the bagel in her hand, he added, "Uh, after you're done eating."

"That's big of you," she said, teasing.

He smiled at her, easing himself back into his seat. He opened the file and studied what they had pertaining to Stanley Torrington's murder as he waited for her to finish her breakfast.

* * *

Barney Cooper's uptown office was plushly appointed. Goren's sharp eye scanned the waiting room as his partner crossed the room to the receptionist's desk. "Good morning," Eames said as she showed her badge to the receptionist seated behind a large desk at the far end of the waiting room. "I'm Detective Eames; that's my partner, Detective Goren. We'd like to talk with Dr. Cooper."

"I'm sorry, but he's with a patient right now."

Goren waved a hand, looking her way. "It's all right," he said, his voice firm but kind. "We'll wait."

"Until he's done with his patient," Eames added. She had no intention of waiting until the good doctor decided he was ready to see them.

The receptionist looked at her indignantly. "I'll let him know that you're here," she said and left her desk.

"Thank you." Eames glanced at Goren, who shrugged at her.

As they waited for Cooper to finish with his patient, Goren continued to wander about the room, fully aware of the receptionist's wary gaze following him once she returned to her desk. He made his way around the room until he was at her desk. "Um, excuse me...do you know Dr. Torrington?"

"Not personally, no. He comes by occasionally to see Dr. Cooper, and he calls, but that's the extent of my involvement," she answered, glancing at him before returning her attention to her data entry duties.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Friday, at lunchtime. He and Dr. Cooper were discussing reservations they had at the club to play racquetball next week, and then they got into an argument and Dr. Torrington left."

Goren raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what the argument was about?"

"No...but I heard Dr. Cooper mention a transplant patient they were both seeing."

Goren nodded. "Were the doctors not getting along?"

"I've never heard them argue before," the receptionist admitted. "But Dr. Torrington has not stopped by as much over the last few weeks as he used to."

They heard a door open from back in the treatment area, followed by voices as a young woman approached the receptionist's desk, followed by a stocky, middle-aged man. He had thick black hair, graying at the temples, thick dark-framed glasses, and he wore a spotted bow tie.

The receptionist studied Goren for a moment longer, then turned away. "Dr. Cooper, these are the people who would like to speak with you."

"Thank you, Serina," Cooper said as she turned to finish with the patient and schedule her next appointment.

Turning to Goren and Eames, he said. "If you'll come with me…"

The two detectives followed him to his office. As Eames sat in the chair by the desk, Goren wandered slowly around the room, looking at Cooper's diplomas, pictures and the books and knick-knacks adorning the room's shelves. Although he appeared distracted, he was fully focused on his partner's conversation with the doctor, who seemed very uncomfortable talking to them. "What may I do to help you, detectives?"

"Dr. Cooper, how well do you know Stanley Torrington?" Eames began the questioning.

Cooper frowned. "We've been friends since medical school. Why?"

Goren pointed to the framed diplomas on the wall. "Yale University."

"That's right."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Eames asked.

"I stopped at his apartment yesterday to wish him a happy birthday," Cooper told her. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"What time were you at Dr. Torrington's apartment?" Goren asked.

"Well... it was around seven, I think. I didn't stay long." He fumbled with his bow tie. "And I don't know exactly what time I left. I wasn't paying attention."

Goren raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think we're interested in when you left, Dr. Cooper?"

Tiny pearls of sweat glistened on the doctor's forehead. "Well, if I didn't know better I'd say that you are here because something happened to Stanley," he answered. "Is he okay?"

"Don't you watch the news, Dr. Cooper?" Eames asked.

"I went to bed early yesterday. I had to do some paperwork before I started seeing patients this morning. I got up early rather than working late."

"So you're telling us you don't know about Dr. Torrington's death?" she challenged him.

Goren watched the doctor closely. He appeared shocked, but there was something about his reaction that just didn't ring true with him. "Uh, did you see any one else coming or going when you visited Dr. Torrington?"

"No," the doctor replied quickly, too quickly for the detectives' liking.

Goren allowed the silence to linger. "Uh, thank you, Dr. Cooper. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

Eames got up from her seat and nodded at Dr. Cooper who went to the door to let them out.

"We'll find our way, thank you, Dr. Cooper," Eames said as they left his office.

Once they were in the hallway of the medical building, headed for the elevators, Goren said, "He was lying."

Eames nodded in agreement. "Maybe he would have told us more if we'd pushed a little harder."

He shook his head, looking thoughtful. "We need to keep an eye on Dr. Cooper, Eames. He's nervous and he'll lead us to something." He paused. "He was too quick to tell us he didn't know how long he stayed, and that he didn't see anyone else coming or going. He knows something."

"A rookie would have noticed how fast he was to answer." Pausing thoughtfully, she looked up at him. "What are you thinking? Do you think he killed Stan?"

Keeping his voice soft, he said, "I don't know yet, but he definitely knows more than he's telling."

"Maybe it has something to do with their argument?"

"Maybe. We need to come back when Dr. Cooper is out of the office and talk to his nurse."

Eames chuckled. "You mean that brunette at the end of the hall who was watching you...?"

His mouth crooked into a half-smile. "You can do the talking, if it'll make you feel better, Eames."

She grinned at him. "She may be more forthcoming with you. Maybe you should do the talking."

He let a full smile touch his face. "Whatever you say, Eames."

* * *

After spending the better part of the day unsuccessfully trying to chase down Stanley Torrington's office staff, Goren and Eames returned to Dr. Cooper's office. Serina looked up from her computer as they came through the door. "I'm sorry, detectives. Dr. Cooper has gone for the day."

"Actually, we have a few questions for his nurse," Eames said.

She studied the two detectives suspiciously for a moment before she got up and headed into the treatment area of the clinic. A few moments later she returned, followed by a slim brunette with dark eyes and a kind face. Her tanned skin contrasted starkly with her light blue scrubs, and her name tag read 'Kelly Davenport, R.N.'. "How may I help you, detectives?"

Goren tipped his head and gave her a charming smile. "We have a few questions to ask you about Dr. Cooper and Dr. Torrington."

"Of course." She motioned for them to follow her. "I hope you don't mind if I finish up while we're talking. I would like to get home at a reasonable hour tonight."

"This is a busy clinic," Goren observed.

"Not compared to the downtown office, but for a small clinic with just one doctor and nurse, yes, it is."

"Did you have many patients today?"

"Seven. Two of them were new patients, and Dr. Cooper spends a lot of time with his new patients. Renal disease is a frightening diagnosis, especially for patients facing dialysis and transplantation. He likes them to be fully informed, and he doesn't let them leave frightened and overwhelmed."

"That's a...good attitude."

"He's a compassionate man and an excellent doctor."

"I don't doubt that. Did Dr. Cooper seem...distracted today? Or nervous?"

"A little, but he's a nervous man to begin with. He was worse after you came by, but I think he was just shaken by news of Dr. Torrington's death."

"That's understandable," Goren sympathized. "Did you know Dr. Torrington?"

"Not well. The only contact I had with him was a hello or good-bye when he dropped by to see Dr. Cooper."

She gave him a smile, which amused Eames. He returned her smile. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"On Friday, at lunchtime. We're only open at this location on Mondays and Fridays. The rest of the week we're at the midtown office at NYU."

"Did Dr. Torrington come by often?"

"Not lately. They seemed to be arguing a lot over the last few weeks. I think that's why he stopped dropping by as often."

"Do you know what the arguments were about?"

"No. Dr. Cooper never told me."

"Your receptionist told us they were fighting about a patient they shared. Was there a treatment issue?"

She gave him another disarming smile. "Detective, you know I can't discuss patient issues."

Goren leaned closer to her. "Dr. Torrington is dead, Miss Davenport," he said softly. "Any help you can give us will be appreciated."

"I wish I knew more, but I don't. If there was a patient issue, Dr. Cooper did not share it with me. If I think of anything, I'll let you know."

He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Please, do."

As they headed across the waiting room toward the door, she called them back. "Detectives?"

They stopped and turned toward her. She moved closer to them. "If they were arguing about a patient, I can only think of one patient they were both seeing, but I don't know what it could possibly be about, beyond the fact that the patient is waiting for a kidney transplant and Stan was treating him for congestive heart failure. Maybe Dr. Helprin can help you. She is a partner in an internal medicine clinic at NYU, and she does a lot of the evaluations at the transplant clinic we refer our patients to. She's known Barney and Stan for a long time."

"Thank you," Goren said with another smile.

She returned the smile then turned and headed back to the treatment area. "A female physician at the transplant clinic..." Eames mused as they entered the elevator. "Another chance for you to turn on the charm for a witness."

"Or a suspect?"

Sometimes she wondered if he actually could read her mind. "Whatever. We have to talk to her."

He looked at the time. "We'll have to wait until morning. By the time we get down there, it'll be well past office hours. How about we stop for dinner? I'll buy."

"An offer I can't refuse," Eames replied playfully.

Goren replied with an affectionate smile as they stepped off the elevator and headed out into the street.

* * *

Goren cut into his steak, glancing across the table as his partner enjoyed her tuna steak. When she looked up at him, he winked at her and smiled.

"Good suggestion, Bobby," she said. "This tuna is delicious."

"I..." He was cut off when her phone rang.

She pulled it out of its holder on her hip and flipped it open. "Eames." As she listened to the speaker on the other end, her features darkened into a frown. When she snapped the phone shut, she pushed her plate back. "Time to go."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Dr. Cooper won't be available for another interview," she grumbled. "They found his body next to his car in the physicians' parking garage at the midtown medical complex."

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Getting to his feet, he dropped a ten and two twenties on the table before following his partner out of the restaurant.

At the scene, a uniformed cop led them to Dr. Cooper's car. The parking spot had a sign in front of it bearing the doctor's name. On the ground beside the car lay Barney Cooper, his chest mutilated by numerous stab wounds.

Snapping on a pair of gloves, Goren approached the body as his partner talked to the nurse who had found him. He dropped to a knee beside Cooper's still form, studying him from head to toe with a practiced eye. Frowning, he leaned over the deepest wound in the center of Cooper's chest. "Eames," he called.

Eames approached him. "Did you find something?"

Goren reached out to the body, sticking two fingers into the wound and pulling out a bloody green ribbon, exactly like the one they'd found in Torrington's body the night before. He looked up and met her eyes.

"Just like Stan," she murmured.

He nodded his head slowly as he put the ribbon into an evidence bag one of the techs held out for him. Then he turned his attention back to the body. Examining the hands and arms, he looked up at Eames. "Once again, no defensive wounds. He was caught by surprise, and he knew his killer."

"Just like Stanley." He nodded agreement, and she asked, "A serial killer?"

He rested his arms on his knees as he squatted beside Cooper's body, thinking. Finally he looked at her. "I wouldn't go that far yet. Serial killers generally don't know their victims. Something else is going on here. Maybe Dr. Helprin can help us shed some light on this in the morning."

He got to his feet and nodded at the medical examiner's staff. As they headed for the car, Eames kept an eye on him but she didn't say anything. She knew the look on his face. He was somewhere she couldn't follow, though she had tried. He was seeking the key to finding this killer, a person who turned rage on friends. The part of his mind that understood these criminals was a dark, frightening place, and he counted on her to keep him grounded so he could find his way back. She had no intention of ever letting him fall.


	4. Meeting Dr Helprin

The tall brunette led the dapple-gray Hannoveraner horse from his stall and started toward the stable doors. When someone stepped into her path, she looked up, surprised. Her surprise quickly turned to annoyance. "What are _you_ doing here?" she snapped.

Stepping aside before she ran him over, he said, "That's a fine greeting. I thought this would be a nice quiet place for us to talk."

She stopped just outside the stable doors and adjusted first one stirrup and then the other. "What are you prattling on about, Napoleon?"

He watched her adjust the cinch and then mount the horse in one smooth, elegant move. "Connie..."

She looked down at him with disdain. "I have to work him."

"You can work him tomorrow. We _have_ to talk."

"No, Napoleon. Andriko and I have a competition coming up. I am not going to risk injuring my horse because you're a spineless whiner."

"This is _important_!" he insisted.

She rolled her eyes . "All right, fine. Tell me."

"Not here. We have to talk in private."

She looked around. "Oh, right. We can't take any chances of being overheard by the horses. We know how hard it is for them to keep secrets."

"Be serious, Connie."

"If you don't want to talk here and now, then you have to wait."

Without giving him a chance for further argument, she urged the horse away, down the path toward the jumping area. Leaning down, she unlatched the gate and backed the stallion so the gate could swing open. Then she urged him into the ring, easing him into a trot around the perimeter for a few laps. She was fully aware of Napoleon's scrutiny as well as his disapproval. If he wasn't such a jellyfish, there would be nothing to talk about. _Idiot_.

After an hour of working with the horse and fuming about her incompetent partner, she guided Andriko out of the ring, maneuvering him back to the gate so she could close it without dismounting. They did this at least three times a week. The horse knew the routine. In fact, he was more reliable than Napoleon was, and certainly less high-strung.

Once back at the stable, she dismounted and led the horse back to his stall, where she began to unsaddle him. Deliberately, she took her time, making Napoleon wait. Putting the saddle away, she returned to Andriko with a bucket. Extracting a currycomb, she began grooming the stallion and, finally, she addressed Napoleon. "All right, now, what was it you wanted to discuss?"

"Did you hear about Stanley Torrington?"

"Of course. I don't live in a bubble."

"Did you know the police were talking to Barney Cooper and his staff about it?"

"What's wrong with that? Barney was his best friend."

"Well, Barney was found dead beside his car yesterday afternoon, Connie." She didn't react to his announcement, which surprised him. "Did you hear me? Barney is dead."

"Yes, I heard you."

The cold tone of her voice sent a chill down his spine. "Doesn't that worry you?"

"Not at all. Why should it?"

"We knew both of them, Connie!"

"Yes, we did. And they were each a liability." She met his eyes. "Don't make the same mistake, Napoleon."

He watcher her removed the bridle from the horse's handsome head, replacing it with a hackamore. She carried the bridle out of the stall toward the tack room and he watched her go. Had she just _threatened_ him?

* * *

Goren was studying a reproduction of a Dali painting on the wall of the internal medicine clinic at NYU early the next morning. He and Eames had arrived before the doctors began seeing patients, requesting to talk with Constance Helprin before she began seeing patients. Eames walked up to his side. "Ah...melting watches. How...pertinent." 

"It's called _The Persistence of Memory_, by Salvador Dali."

"I still find melting watches in an office that evaluates people for organ transplants to be kind of creepy."

His mouth quirked into an amused smile as a nurse approached them. "Detectives? Come with me. Dr. Helprin and Dr. Lansing will see you together."

Eames looked at her partner before asking, "Dr. Lansing?"

"He's the senior partner in the practice," she explained. "He always sits in on important discussions, like this one."

Goren smiled. "How do you know it's important?" he wondered.

She looked at him, returning his smile. "You are police detectives, aren't you?"

She turned away, and his eyes unconsciously surveyed her. Eames turned to say something and caught him. She rolled her eyes, then leaned in closer to him. "Sounds like Dr. Lansing is a little controlling."

The nurse led them to a large office adorned by leather-covered furniture. More Dali prints decorated the walls amid diplomas and awards. Eames took the lead while Goren wandered around the office, seemingly disinterested in the conversation.

Connie Helprin was a tall woman with long brown hair and a cold, stern expression on her face. Behind her, shifting nervously, was her boss, Napoleon Lansing. He was balding and had a low sloping forehead and a large, pointed nose. He reminded Eames of a big sewer rat. "I'm Detective Eames. My partner is Detective Goren. We would like to talk with you about two physicians who were killed recently. Our sources indicate that both of them referred their patients here for evaluation for transplant."

"A lot of doctors refer their patients to us, detective. That doesn't mean it has any relevance to their deaths."

From the far corner of the room, Goren asked, "Is it routine for an internal medicine clinic to do transplant evaluations?"

"Perhaps pre-evaluation would be a better term. We review records and perform patient history and examinations, and then either recommend them for transplant or not. If a patient is a good candidate, we send them to one of the transplant clinics for the routine work-up."

"So Dr. Torrington and Dr. Cooper added an extra step to their patients' regimen?"

She studied the man who looked at her from across the room, holding a glass paperweight in his hand. "They did not want to raise false hopes for desperately ill patients by offering a treatment option that was not viable for them. Napoleon and I are deeply interested in transplant medicine, and we were glad to help qualified patients receive every opportunity for proper treatment. I wish we could do more."

Goren nodded and turned his attention back to the bookshelves. Used to her partner's random interruptions, Eames resumed her questions. "Did either of you know Stanley Torrington or Barney Cooper?"

"Only professionally."

Goren's voice came from across the office. "Please don't lie to us, Dr. Helprin. We don't like it when people lie to us."

When they looked at him, he pointed to a framed newspaper clipping on the far wall. "Uh, it's a newspaper clipping, of you and Mrs. Torrington at a charity event for retired racehorses."

Helprin focused cold eyes on the detective. "Yes, that's _Mrs._ Torrington, detective. We travel in the same circles. That doesn't mean I knew her husband well."

"But you did know him."

It was more statement than question, and that irritated the doctor. "How is my association with Melanie Torrington relevant to her husband's death?"

He shook his head. "It may not be," he admitted, returning his attention to the shelves. Behind Helprin, Lansing became more nervous. Eames recognized the look in Helprin's eyes. It mirrored the way she felt sometimes when her partner's restlessness grated on her nerves. "What about Dr. Cooper?" Eames asked.

"What about him? He was a good doctor, dedicated to his patients. He would come here to the clinic once a week to discuss his patients as well as any new referrals he was planning to send to us."

"So that's what he was doing yesterday?" Goren asked from across the room.

"I suppose. He never got here."

"And you didn't think it odd that he didn't stick to his routine? His nurses at his clinic here said his life was governed by routine."

"Well, I didn't know him that well, detective," she snapped at him. "I figured he got tied up with a patient and he would call me. That's what he usually did when he wasn't able to make it in person."

"So he would come here every Friday from his uptown clinic to discuss patients? Your staff can corroborate that?"

"Yes, they can."

"It would have been more convenient for him to visit with you on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, when he had office hours here, in the same building, don't you think?"

"I didn't know his schedule, so I couldn't say."

He nodded and went back to examining the books on the shelf. Eames resumed her questioning. "Where were you when you heard about Dr. Cooper's death?"

"Right here at this desk. It was a shock. Barney was a little odd, but he was a good, compassionate doctor. I wish my patients had the same level of affection for me that Barney's had for him. There was nothing he would not do for his patients."

_Well, almost,_ she added in her mind.

"Transplant medicine..." Goren said in that thoughtful tone Eames knew so well.

"What about it?" Helprin asked.

"You said you have a deep interest in transplant medicine."

"What about it?"

"It must be frustrating for you, so many people dying while they wait for organs that never come."

"Yes, it's very frustrating. So many people are reluctant to donate their organs. Far too many good, healthy organs go to the grave with their owners."

"'Don't take your organs to Heaven; Heaven knows we need them here,'" he said quietly.

Helprin stared at him. "Yes," she said, some of the ice gone from her tone. "Are you an organ donor, detective?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am."

"You donate blood regularly, too, don't you?"

"Yes. So does my partner."

Eames looked at Goren as he set a small glass trophy back on a shelf. Then she asked, "When was the last time you saw Dr. Cooper?"

"Last week, when we discussed his patients."

"Did he mention a patient that Dr. Torrington was also seeing?"

"I know the patient you mean. What about him?"

"There seems to have been some disagreement between the two doctors about his care."

"I never got into the details of Barney's cases beyond their involvement with our clinic. If there was a treatment issue, you'll have to talk to the patient or get a court order for Barney and Stan's records."

"Thank you, Dr. Helprin. We'll look into that." She looked at Lansing. "Do you have anything to add, Dr. Lansing?"

"Not at this time."

Eames got to her feet as Goren stepped away from the shelves and met her at the door. She said, "Thank you for your time, doctors. We'll be in touch if we have anything further. Thank you for seeing us."

She left the office with her partner behind her. He said a quiet thank you to the nurse as they passed her and they left the clinic. She looked at him. "Something tells me that Dr. Helprin is the one calling the shots in that clinic."

He nodded in agreement. "She has a...dominant personality, much the opposite of Dr. Lansing."

"So what now?"

"Now we talk to Kent about getting those treatment records."

Once the detectives were gone, Helprin leaned back in her chair. "That big detective is going to cause headaches for us. I can feel it. He's smart and suspicious. He gives the illusion of disinterest, of mediocrity, but there is nothing common about him."

"Don't be paranoid, Connie. He's a cop. How much can he know about medical issues?"

"Don't underestimate him, Napoleon. I have a feeling that would be a fatal error. If he starts poking his nose too far into our business, I'll take care of him. Trust me."

That was one thing Napoleon never had trouble doing: trusting Connie to deal with any situation. After all, Stan and Barney were no longer a threat. If this detective started getting too close, then he would cease to be a threat as well.


	5. A Night on the Town

The conference room table was stacked with the medical files of patients Torrington and Cooper had referred to Lansing and Helprin. Goren rubbed his eyes and sat back in the chair, stretching his back muscles as Eames returned from a run to the coffee pot. She handed him his coffee cup and he gave her a grateful smile. "Any luck?" she asked.

He patted a small pile of files on the chair beside him. "So far, these patients are the only ones that both doctors were treating, but there's no indication there was any disagreement in treatment with any of them. The scenario is pretty much the same with each of them. They're all in kidney failure, which has caused congestive heart failure. About half of them are on dialysis and all of them have problems with fluid balance and blood pressure. A disproportionate number of them are diabetic, but that's not surprising. Another handful have polycystic kidney disease or cancer. The remaining few have lost their kidney function to other causes...infection...congenital problems..." He shrugged. "So far, the clinic notes from each office for each patient are routine."

"Since we have a search warrant that covers all these records, do you think you could turn your charm on with one of the nurses and get the name of the patient we're looking for? It would save a lot of time."

He shrugged again. "We have to go through all the records anyway."

"Why?"

"To get an idea of the demographic."

She glanced at his leather binder, laying open on the table amid stacks of files. "Are you tallying these patients?"

"I'm looking for patterns."

"Call it what you want. I think you're wasting your time, but whatever floats your boat."

He smiled and went back to the files. The door opened and Ross came into the room, looking over the stacks of files on the table. "Talk to me. I'm having dinner with Melanie Torrington and her children. What do I tell them?"

"We're working on it," Goren answered.

"I was hoping for a little more than that, detective."

"That's all we have right now, captain," Eames answered. "We're looking through the records from both clinics. Apparently, they had a disagreement about one patient, and we're looking for that patient so we can compare the clinic notes from each doctor."

"We're also looking for ties to Dr. Lansing's clinic."

"Why?"

"Call it a hunch," Eames answered, knowing a hunch would be better received coming from her.

"I want to be able to give this family something more than that, and soon. If you think this Dr. Lansing is involved, prove it. I'll check with you again before I leave for the day."

Goren looked at Eames when Ross was gone. "A hunch, Eames?"

"What would you call it?"

"It's more than a hunch."

"He'll deal with it. Keep looking."

With a small smile, he turned back to the files.

* * *

At lunchtime, Goren took off, saying he had to run an errand. When he returned, he called Eames into the conference room, opened his binder and pulled out a file. "Jeffrey Bingham." 

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that our missing patient?"

"Missing patient, missing file."

"Where did you get it, or don't I want to know?"

"I had lunch with Kelly Davenport. I convinced her that since we had a court order, she wouldn't be doing anything unethical by talking to me. Jeffrey is a very special patient, Eames. He was born without a properly working kidney and has been on dialysis almost since birth. He developed congestive heart failure in January from fluid problems related to his kidney failure. He's three years old...and he's Connie Helprin's son."

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Bingo. There's our link."

"But where's the motive? These two were taking care of her son. Why would she want to kill them? It makes no sense." He leaned back in the chair and looked thoughtful. "Are you busy tomorrow night, Eames?"

"That depends. What do you have in mind?"

"Would you like to go with me to a charity dinner?"

"What charity?"

"It's being put on to raise funds for organ donor awareness."

"And Dr. Helprin is going to be there."

"Exactly."

"What are you thinking, Bobby?"

"Maybe in those surroundings, Dr. Helprin will be more...relaxed."

"And more open to discussing things with you."

"Right."

She nodded. "I think I can dig up something to wear. Do you have tickets?"

"I will by tomorrow night. I talked to a friend of mine in the mayor's office. She's going to get me two tickets and send them over by courier in the morning."

"A friend?"

He smirked. "Yes, Eames. A friend."

"Is there anyplace you don't have friends?" She sat down and held out her hand. He placed the file in it. "Do we have Jeffrey's file from Dr. Torrington's office?"

He sifted through a stack of files and shook his head. "No."

"I'll brief the captain, and you go over to chat up Dr. Torrington's nurse. I'm sure you can sweet talk another file out of another nurse."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

She gave him a sweet smile. "I have faith in you, partner. See you in an hour or so."

With an amused smile, he gathered up his binder and headed out the door.

* * *

The charity ball for the benefit of organ donor awareness took place in the famous Palm Court of the Plaza Hotel. The landmark luxury hotel on the west side of Grand Army Plaza, from which it derived its name, overlooked the Plaza and Central Park while the part-gilded bronze equestrian statue of General Sherman watched the cars pull up in front of the main entrance. They stopped beneath the overhang so that the guests in their tuxedos and ball gowns could enter the hotel without being exposed to the constant drizzle. Over the black and white checkered tiles they went into the entrance hall and from there proceeded directly into the Palm Court. 

Upon arrival, each guest was given a green organ donor awareness ribbon to fasten to their clothing, if practical. Goren pinned his to the lapel of his tuxedo, then looked, again, at his partner. Simply put, she took his breath away. The light green of her full length gown did something amazing to her eyes, and he was at a loss to put a description to it. The deep neckline and the way it clung to her figure did not help matters any. Her hair was upswept and pinned to her head, exposing her neck and shoulders. She held out the pin to him. Stepping to her side, he took the pin and stopped for a moment. In order to pin it to her strapless dress without drawing blood, he would have to slide his fingertips beneath the fabric, and that gave him pause. "For crying out loud, Goren, just put the damn thing on me," she whispered when she noticed his hesitation.

Bracing himself, he removed the back of the pin and held it between two fingers which he then slid under the fabric of her dress, along the side of her right breast. Pressing the pin into place, he removed his hand and looked away. She noticed his embarrassment and it amused her. She touched his arm and said, "Let's find our table, Bobby."

He turned back to her, relieved that she did not seem offended by the unfamiliar intimacy of what she had just asked him to do. Resting his hand against her back, he guided her forward and followed her into the dining area.

The tables were arranged around the courtyard, each beautifully decked out to accommodate six guests. Shortly after they found their places, a man stepped up to the podium, introduced himself and launched into a welcoming speech.

Goren's attention was not on the tiresome speech. His eyes strayed to his partner as he recalled her words from the day before. _Dig up something to wear, hell. More women should be able to just 'dig up' something like that. I wonder what she would have come up with if I'd given her more time._

He averted his eyes when she turned toward him to mutter a sarcastic comment about the man who droned on at the podium. Her eyes sparked with amusement and he smiled at her, though his brain had stumbled and hadn't registered a word she'd said.

Once the doctor was finished with his welcoming remarks, the salads were set out by the wait staff and Goren leaned toward Eames. "Uh, the entree...I forgot to ask, so I took the liberty of ordering chicken for you, instead of steak or salmon. I hope that's all right."

She smiled at him. "That's fine. I'm not going to complain about a free meal."

He returned her smile, hoping she wouldn't review his expense submission at the end of the month. The donation for the event cost almost as much as his rent did. But he wasn't complaining. It was a worthy cause, and after seeing her at his door, he felt it had been worth every dime.

They settled into a comfortable conversation involving goings-on in the squad room and her family. He always enjoyed hearing about her nephew. He had dreaded her pregnancy because it had taken her away from him, however briefly. But there had been moments...like the time she had suddenly grabbed his hand and laid it on her stomach so he could feel the baby move. He'd never forgotten that, or the look on her face as he shared that special moment with her. Such times had lately grown scarce. She rarely shared anything with him these days, and he wondered if he had been the one to drive her away.

* * *

Once dinner was over and the tables had been cleared, drinks were served—wine for her, scotch for him--and more speeches commenced. Eames leaned toward him again. "If they keep this up, I'll need more than one glass of wine." 

He smiled warmly at her but didn't reply. She seemed not to notice the fact that he hadn't spoken much, which was fine with him. He wanted to listen to her and enjoy those rare, relaxed moments in her company. If all it took to keep things comfortable was his silence, he was willing to comply. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing again and setting her on edge. So he remained quiet and listened to whatever she had to say.

Once the final speaker concluded his oratory, an announcement was made to remind the diners of the open bar as well as to herald the opening of the dance floor. A seven-piece band had set up in a far corner of the ballroom and they began to play. Gradually, more and more couples turned out onto the dance floor. Goren watched his partner observe the dancers, and he leaned forward to speak softly into her ear. "Would you like to dance, Eames?"

She turned to look at him. "I thought we were here to work on Dr. Helprin."

"There's nothing that says I can't dance with you first, is there? I don't have to tackle her right off the bat."

"Try it, Goren," she replied with a smile at the image of her partner tackling the doctor. "I would love to see what she'd do to you."

"I'd be more concerned about what you would do," he replied, standing and holding out a hand to her.

She slipped her hand into his and let him lead her out to the dance floor. Turing gracefully into his arms, she let him lead her in a slow dance to a beautiful rendition of the old classic _Cheek to Cheek_. He found himself glad she wasn't tall enough to dance as the song suggested. He wasn't certain how well he would be able to handle the sensation of her soft cheek resting against his shaved one. Her heels brought her head to his shoulder level, and he found that he preferred her in a lower heel. He found her diminutive stature endearing, though he would never tell her that. He valued his body parts exactly where they were and in working condition.

He found himself overwhelmed by the sensation of having her so close, touching him in a manner to which he was certainly unaccustomed. With each step, her body brushed against his and it sent his senses reeling. His normal vigilance went on hiatus and the only thing that existed for him was his partner...until she suddenly stepped from his arms and returned him to reality with a jarring crash.

"Thanks for the dance, partner," she said clearly. "I need a little break."

Her eyes darted to the left and he noticed Connie Helprin at the perimeter of the dance floor, about six feet from where they were. Eames met his eyes, then stepped away and disappeared into the crowd. Unable to suppress a soft sigh at her departure, he turned and acted surprised to see Helprin. "Dr. Helprin, good evening."

"Hello, detective," she greeted, her eyes shifting up and down his body as she appreciated the cut of his tuxedo. "You look very nice tonight."

A shy smile touched his face as he answered, "And so do you. Might I convince you to join me for a dance?"

"A dance? With the subject of one of your investigations?"

"Only peripherally, I assure you. Unless you consider yourself a suspect?"

"What I think doesn't matter now, does it?"

He held out a hand, eyes questioning. She looked from his face to his hand and back, finally settling her hand into his and letting him guide her into his arms. Quietly he answered, "I suppose that depends on what you're thinking. Everything is relevant, doctor."

She was taller than Eames, classically beautiful and graceful, but she had nowhere near the effect on him that his partner had, and he wondered vaguely at that. Attempting to change the subject, Helprin said, "You are a wonderful dancer, detective."

He couldn't help noticing the surprise in her tone. "Why does that surprise you?" he asked.

"Let's just say that after watching you in the office, I didn't get the impression you were this graceful."

He shrugged lightly. "Different environment," he offered.

"I don't believe that. I think you like to project an image of incompetence to set suspects off their guard."

"I told you that you're not a suspect," he reminded her.

"Did you?"

He pulled back a little to look at her face, wondering what her game was. She offered a smile intended to disarm him. It had the opposite effect and set him on edge. He was taken by surprise when her fingers brushed the back of his neck. "Your girlfriend is a lucky woman," she fairly purred and he was caught off guard by the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Ah, um...girlfriend?"

She smiled again. "You don't wear a wedding band, you're smart and attractive, and a wonderful dancer. Surely there's some special woman in your life."

_Just Eames,_ his mind interjected as he shook his head. "No. My schedule doesn't allow me much time for dating, I'm afraid."

Another tender caress of fingers across the back of his neck distracted him. "So who do you go home to at night," she asked, her voice seductively husky as her eyes caught his.

He didn't look away. "N-no one," he admitted, his own voice soft.

"That's a shame," she whispered. Her business-like demeanor suddenly made an appearance as she noticed something off to the side of the dance floor. "So shall I send you back to your partner?"

It was rare for any woman to knock him so far off kilter. Lately, only Eames had been able to do that. "My...my partner?"

Drawing his eyes from hers with some difficulty, he spotted Eames on the edge of the crowd, but before he could answer, someone stepped up to her and then guided her onto the dance floor. Swallowing a twinge of jealousy, he returned his attention to Helprin. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Unless you have a preferred partner...?"

The seductive tone was back along with the change in her demeanor. "Actually, I came with Napoleon, but you are a much better dancer. I think I prefer you."

He had no idea what to make of the sudden shifts in her demeanor and her mood back and forth from cold indifference to warm seduction. She wasn't easy to pin down and he got the feeling he wasn't getting anywhere with her. He would need more time. "Uh...do you think I could convince you to have dinner with me?" he asked.

"I would like that."

"How does Friday night sound?"

"Like a plan." Another soft caress and then, even more unexpected, she leaned closer and kissed him softly. "See you Friday," she whispered as she stepped from his arms and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Eames found him sitting at the table, a half-empty drink in his hand and one of the green donor ribbons on the table in front of him, disassembled. He was fingering the ribbon, staring at it, engrossed and totally unaware of his surroundings. She pulled her chair closer to his and sat down. "What was that all about, Bobby?" 

He looked at her blankly for a moment as he processed her question. "What was what about?"

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the dance floor. "Dr. Helprin..."

"She's an...interesting woman. She can shift gears in midstream without batting an eye if she thinks it will get her what she wants."

"You seemed to hit it off with her," she commented with a grin. "So did she get what she wants?"

"I couldn't say because I'm not sure what she wants. But I'm having dinner with her Friday night."

Concern replaced the teasing smile on Eames' face. "What? Why?"

"I can't pin her down; I need more time."

"It looked to me like she was the one doing the pinning. I don't trust her, Bobby."

"Neither do I. But something isn't sitting quite right, and I have to find out what."

"Does everything have to trigger your curiosity?"

He turned tired eyes toward her. "Anything I don't understand does, and I don't understand her, yet."

"Is it that important?"

He had turned his attention back to the unraveled ribbon. He picked it up and ran it through his fingers. Eames knew that look and she remained quiet until he looked at her again. "A green ribbon," he murmured softly. "Organ donor awareness. Stanley Torrington and Barney Cooper each had a green ribbon..." He trailed off again, studying the ribbon. Then he turned his head to look across the room toward the bar where Connie Helprin was standing with Napoleon Lansing.

"Bobby?"

He turned back to his partner. "I need to talk to her about her son."

"Is that smart?"

He looked thoughtful, then he tipped his head and gave her a soft smile. "There's no other way to find out."

"Find out what?"

"If she had anything to do with those murders." He finished his drink. "None of their organs were taken, but somehow, their deaths are related." He picked up the ribbon and held it out to her.

She took it from his fingers, then lifted her eyes to his. "If she is involved, she's ruthless. You're taking a risk..."

"A calculated risk. I'll be fine."

"I hope so, Bobby."

Across the room, Helprin glanced away from Lansing toward the table where Goren sat talking to his partner. She saw the green ribbon that dangled from his fingers as he held it out to her. Napoleon followed her gaze and saw what Goren was holding. He frowned. "That big cop is trouble, Connie."

"I told you he would be. Don't worry, Napoleon. I will take care of him."

"Don't forget that he's a cop. Are you sure you want to mess with him?"

"Nothing is going to interfere with this, do you understand me? Nothing. After Friday, he won't cause us any trouble. Now take me home, Napoleon. I have to take care of Jeff."

Lansing sighed. "Whatever you want, Connie."

He followed her toward the exit, and he hoped that she knew what she was doing..


	6. Hunting the Hunter

After lunch the next day, Goren and Eames had a surprise waiting for them in the squadroom. Eames noticed that Logan seemed on edge, glancing up from his desk toward the captain's office periodically. His desk afforded him a decent opportunity to watch the captain's office, though the captain would insist it was the other way around, and he had been watching the visitor's irate gestures as she talked with Ross.

As Goren sat down, Eames crossed to Logan's desk. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I don't know, but the captain has a visitor and something royally pissed her off."

Eames frowned and walked to her desk, watching as her partner glanced toward the captain's office. She watched him study the tall brunette in the captain's office. "Know her?" she asked.

"Uh...yes. She used to work as an ADA under Jack McCoy. Abigail Carmichael. Not a good woman to get on the wrong side of, from everything I've heard."

The captain's door opened and Ross motioned to Eames. "You and your partner get in here."

As the two detectives entered the office, Carmichael turned from where she stood near the captain's desk, studying the two detectives that she knew by reputation. It was that reputation that had spurred her to visit the Major Case Squad. Ross introduced them and Carmichael wasted no time getting to the point. "You have been questioning my uncle in connection with your current case," she said. "I'd like to know what's going on."

"Who is your uncle?" Eames asked, her voice cold and professional.

Goren recognized the tone and he cringed internally. This was not going to go well, he worried. Glancing at Ross, he saw the same apprehension on the captain's face. He prepared himself to intervene. Typical of the aggressive ADA she had proven herself to be time and again in the courtroom, Carmichael was immediately on the offensive. "Dr. Napoleon Lansing," she said, her tone mirroring Eames' tone. "Why are you interested in him?"

"We cannot discuss an active investigation with any party having a personal interest in it," Eames replied.

Before Carmichael could bare her claws, Goren said, "We were questioning him, that's all."

"As a suspect?"

He tipped his head and replied, "You know better, counsellor."

His lighter tone defused some of her anger. She raised a finger. "My uncle has never harmed anyone, detective," she said, addressing Goren directly.

"We appreciate that observation, counsellor. But you have to realize that you are doing him no favors by using your position to attempt to get information about an active investigation."

Carmichael squared off against him, but he was not intimidated. Neither his expression nor his position changed, and Carmichael backed down some. "You will let one of us know the moment he needs counsel, won't you, detective?"

He inclined his head slightly. "He will know," he promised.

Glaring unhappily at Eames, she looked once more at Ross, handing him her card. "Good day," she said, leaving the office in an angry huff.

Ross raised his eyebrows. "Nice," he commented.

"We had no idea Dr. Lansing was her uncle," Goren said defensively.

"Is he a suspect?"

"At the moment," Eames replied. "No. But we're not going to let a lawyer tell us how to do our job."

"Well, let's not ruffle any more feathers than we have to, Eames. Miss Carmichael still has pull in the DA's office, particularly since McCoy took over as DA. If Dr. Lansing does become a suspect, I want to know. I will deal with Miss Carmichael."

"Good," Eames said as she headed out the door. Goren followed her, not certain exactly what had ruffled her feathers.

Sitting at his desk, he leaned toward her. "What gives?"

"We get enough interference," she complained. "We don't need the DA's office looking over our shoulders because of some distant connection that might exist between a potential suspect and a former prosecutor."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Let's get this wrapped up as soon as we can and move on."

His mouth twitched in amusement. "Good idea, Eames."

She balled up a paper and tossed it at his head. "Don't be an ass," she warned, but the corners of her mouth were no longer turned down in anger and he relaxed. She studied him for a moment, then leaned toward him. "I really want you to be careful Friday, all right?"

"Don't worry, Eames. I'll be fine."

She watched him open Jeffrey Bingham's file, and she could not help but wonder just what he was getting himself into.

* * *

Late Friday afternoon, Logan noticed that Goren was not around, but Eames was, which was very unusual. Generally, the big detective remained at his desk long after his partner had gone for the day, even on Friday afternoon. He watched her bowed over her desk, her brow furrowed. After a few moments, he approached her. "Hey, Eames," he said as he approached, deliberately keeping his tone light. "What's up? Where's Goren?" 

She looked up. "He's...talking to a suspect," she replied uneasily. Her partner's assurances had done nothing to settle her apprehension about his dinner date. She would feel a lot better if she were able to keep an eye on him. Studying Logan, she had an idea. "Are you busy tonight, Logan?"

"Um, not really. Why?"

She shifted in her chair. "You are now," she said with a slight smile. "Come on."

He looked confused. "Come on? Where are we going?"

"First to my place so I can change and then to yours for the same reason."

"And then where are we going?"

"To Kion."

"Where?"

"I'll explain on the way."

As Logan turned out of the garage, Eames finished her explanation. He frowned and asked, "Is he out of his mind? This woman may have killed two colleagues, and he asked her on a date?"

Eames bristled at that. "It's not a date. She's not our usual suspect. She's complicated and he needs to know more about her. I would just feel better if we keep an eye on him."

"So what? You wanna shadow him?" Logan chuckled. "He really can be a pain in the ass, right? Stubborn as he is, always thinking he has everything under control."

Eames let out a heavy sigh. "Just drive, Logan."

"Okay, okay," he mumbled, raising one hand defensively. He did not want to annoy her. She was already in a bad mood.

With a deep frown, she looked out the window and tried to fight down the worry that grew in her gut. Logan let her brood. They would decide on exactly what to do when they reached their destination.

* * *

Goren paced the sidewalk in front of Kión, waiting for Connie to arrive. He did not question his reason for being there, but his partner's anger did not sit well with him. He hated arguing with her. 

_Maybe she's right,_ he thought. _But I need to know more about her. I need to figure her out. There's something about her that I just can't seem to get past..._

His hand scrubbed the back of his neck as he thought. He hated uncertainty, and he was not completely comfortable with the way Connie made him feel. People did not often leave him off balance the way she did. Eames did from time to time, but he could not think of another person who did. Not even Nicole Wallace left him feeling so... he wasn't even sure just how to classify it.

The subject of his thoughts came strolling down the street from a nearby parking garage. He forgot his uneasiness as he noticed the way her dress clung to her in all the right places and the way she moved in it. "You look very nice, doctor," he said with a smile as she approached him.

"Thank you, Detective," she answered, smoothing her hand over the lapel of his jacket. "So do you. You certainly don't look like a cop."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said as he pulled the door to the restaurant open and held it for her. His eyes unconsciously followed her as she walked ahead of him. She was a beautiful woman, and she knew how to accentuate her sexuality. For the first time, the thought passed through his mind that he might be in trouble, but it remained a passing thought and by the time the maitre'd seated them, it was gone.

As they settled in their seats, a second man approached them. He was a small man, with dark hair and a mustache. His voice was colored by a lilting Spanish accent and he smiled broadly as he asked, "I am Raoul. I will be your waiter this evening. May I get you something to drink?"

They ordered their drinks—dry wine for her and Scotch for him—and the waiter hurried off to get their drinks, leaving them with their menus. Before scanning the menu, Goren took in their surroundings, as was his habit. Their table was located to the side of the large dining room. The stone walls were textured, reflecting blue and red light. The lights were low and the sound of running water from a nearby waterfall feat4re made for a relaxing environment. He looked over the familiar menu. He'd brought his last date here, not that long ago.

"Have you ever eaten here before?" he asked, looking over his menu at her.

"No, I haven't," she replied. "It looks interesting."

"The food is excellent," he commented.

"So you've already been here?" she asked with an arch of her brows. "With your girlfriend?"

His lips quirked into a soft smile. "No girlfriend, doctor. Not at the moment anyway."

"Really?" she said with surprise. "I don't understand that at all. A man like you... polite, handsome, with obvious good taste... I'd never guess you would be wanting for female attention."

A provocative smile followed her words and under the table he felt her toes tease his shin. His eyes slid half closed and he drew in a slow breath. "No. No female attention," he replied, careful to keep his tone neutral. "What about you? Beautiful, successful...you should have men flocking to your side."

"Yeah, well," she smirked. "They flock the other way when they find out that I'm a single mother who puts in long shifts at the hospital."

He leaned back in his chair. "Jeffrey," he said softly.

"I see you've done your homework, detective." Her smile turned slightly sad but lit up again quickly. "He's my sunshine."

"He's sick," he added, his voice empathetic.

"Yes, he is. He has never been healthy."

He met her eyes, not flinching, his voice sincere. "We found his file among Dr. Torrington and Dr. Cooper's files. I'm sorry he's sick."

"Thank you." Suddenly her smile turned seductive again. "Any woman would be happy to call a man like you her friend."

He smiled a shy smile but their conversation was interrupted by Raoul, returning with their drinks and waiting to take their dinner order.

Goren leaned toward her. "I can recommend the duck," he said, his dark eyes catching hers.

"Actually I was thinking about having a salad."

"If you're worried about your figure," he commented. "Don't."

That elicited a small laugh from her. "Charmer," she accused lightly. "Very well, detective. I'll try the duck."

He turned to the waiter with a nod and a smile. "The duck for both of us," he said, handing his menu over when the waiter was done writing their order down.

"Very good, sir."

Once he was gone, Goren returned his full attention to Connie. Reaching toward her, he took her hand in his, caressing the back of it with his thumb. "Tell me about your son," he encouraged.

"He's three and he has spent his life on dialysis," she replied, her eyes wandering from his face to their entwined hands and then back. This was not going at all the way she'd planned. "He's smart and happy and I adore him."

"I would...like to meet him," he said, again catching her eyes.

"Why would you want to meet my son?" she asked.

"I like kids," he replied without hesitation.

She studied his face, but found no sign that he was being dishonest. "I think any woman would consider herself fortunate to be with a man like you," she said, and she was surprised to find sincerity behind her words. No, this was not going well at all. She did not want to like this man, but she couldn't help it. He was sweet and charming, and he knew all the right things to say, and when to say them. The_last_ thing she needed was to be attracted to him, but that was exactly what was happening, damn him.

"I don't know about that," he responded with another shy smile and a soft laugh she found irresistible.

_No_, she thought furiously. _He can't be for real. He's looking for something. He's far too smart for my liking._

"You don't think enough of yourself, detective," she said, taking a sip of her wine. Time to change topics...work...yes, that should be safe enough. "A police detective...how well do you suit your job?"

"I don't know about how well I suit the job, but it certainly suits me."

"I'll wager you're very good at what you do."

"I would make the same bet about you," he returned the compliment.

She nodded. "Yes, although it never seems to be enough," she sighed, sipping at her drink.

He picked up his drink and swirled the amber fluid before taking a drink. "I feel the same way," he answered. "It's a cut-throat world out there, and I see the worst of it."

"We both see things that should never happen, but I don't think that I could do your work. I'm helping people to survive. You start your work after it's too late."

He nodded. "You're right, but the dead have a story to tell, and I can read their tales. I give the people who are left behind closure." He sighed. "But I do love my job, however that sounds to you."

"I don't question your dedication... I just doubt I could do what you do. What would you say about me?"

He averted his eyes, looking back into his glass. "I'm not sure I could do what you do," he answered.

Something in his tone and his manner set her on edge. Was he talking about her job as a physician...or something else? Did he have any clue...no...she was just being paranoid. Her conscience was troubling her, that was all. She'd thought she had silenced that voice long ago. She could no longer afford to have a conscience.

The arrival of their meals interrupted the conversation and, once the waiter was gone, he added, "I have no doubt you're good at what you do."

Something had changed between them and she knew Goren had to be sensing it as well. There was a different kind of tension in the air, and she didn't like it. Avoiding eye contact, she turned her attention to the duck in front of her.

He was confused, not sure what had caused the sudden change in the doctor across from him. Something was going on and he had a strong feeling he was not going to like it when he found out what it was. But he was curious. He needed to figure this woman out. Tipping his head to the left, he sought her eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Upset her? She would not say that she was upset. But she felt heat rise in her face. Could it be a coincidence, or did he already suspect something? Was he digging for information or seeking to confirm something he already suspected?

"You didn't," she finally said and quickly took a bite of her duck.

He wasn't buying that. Reaching across the table, he touched her wrist. "I did. And I'm sorry."

_Oh my God. He's far too empathetic,_ she thought with an inward sigh._He's smart and intuitive. He'll figure it out! He's too much of a threat to let him continue this investigation_.

Part of her deeply regretted her decision, but she had made up her mind. She could not allow this cop to continue his investigation into the murder of her colleagues. Her work was too important to allow him to halt it now.

She gripped his hand and squeezed, offering a reassuring smile. Her resolve suppressed, she said, "I am being too sensitive. It's fine."

He did not believe her but he went along with her. "Okay." He smiled and winked at her. "Your duck's getting cold."

* * *

"I don't know about this..." Logan studied the menu in front of him with trepidation. 

"You don't know about what?" Eames asked irritably, her eyes darting from the menu across the room to where her partner was dining with Connie Helprin. She had a very bad feeling about this.

"This food..." he muttered.

"It's food, Logan. You like food."

"Sure, but I like food I can _pronounce_."

He followed her nervous gaze and watched Goren for a few minutes. It sure looked like a date to him. "Dating a suspect...that's a new approach. I gotta hand it to him...he sure knows how to muddy the water."

"He's not dating her," she snapped, more sharply than she intended.

"Ouch. Jealous much?"

She turned to him, her eyes flashing with anger. "Bite me, Logan."

"Hey, I was just making an observation."

"And I'm telling you how it is."

"I still think I'm going to ask him for pointers...ow! What'd you kick me for?"

"Stop being a jerk."

When he raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off. "Yeah, I know. That's like asking the ocean to be still."

Annoyed she handed her menu to the waiter and ordered for them both. Logan had enough sense to be quiet for a little while to let her calm down. He liked teasing her, but he valued his health enough not to push her too far. For some reason, her partner's date had her all out of sorts, and he sensed it was not a good time to joke about her relationship with Goren. So he sat quietly, shifting his attention from her to her partner and back, over and over, waiting for her to say something more, which she didn't.

When their meals arrived, he stared at his plate. Grilled Argentinian rib eye with sauteed asparagus and sweet potato gratin... He poked at the green spears with his fork. It had been so long since he'd had asparagus he forgot what they tasted like. He looked at her plate...roasted zucchini stuffed with shrimp, crabmeat and goat cheese. He decided to stick with the steak. He liked steak.

"Just eat it, Logan. It won't hurt you."

He nodded his head toward the couple on the other side of the room. "Just how sure are you he's not dating her?"

She glared at him and he held up his fork defensively. "All I'm saying is that if it's not a date, he plays the game really damn well."

She leaned toward him. "Just put the food in your mouth so nothing else will come out, will you?"

He smiled and cut into his steak, deciding to change the subject. "I'm not cut out for this kind of place, you know."

"I wouldn't like you so much if you were," she said simply, taking a sip of her iced tea.

"You like me? I'd hate to see what you'd be like if you didn't." She smirked, but didn't reply. He took another bite, then asked, "So, do you want to tell me exactly why we're here and why your partner feels the need to date a suspect?"

"He said he can't get a handle on her. He needs to get to know her better so he can get into her head."

"Her head, huh? It doesn't look to me like he's too interested in her head."

Ignoring him, she continued, "I want to keep an eye on them. She's playing him. She seems to sense his soft spots and she pushes all the right buttons. At the charity ball, she had him all confused, and he's determined to figure her out. I want to know what she's up to."

"And you don't trust him to remain objective."

She poked at her food as she sadly shook her head. "No, I don't."

Logan raised an eyebrow. Her confession did not sit well with him. He knew that Goren had a tendency to get too close to suspects, but this one seemed different. "He doesn't know we're here, does he?"

"Hell, no."

"So he doesn't know you don't trust him."

"It's not him I don't trust," she grumbled. "But I couldn't convince him to do this under surveillance..."

"So you took it on yourself to watch him." He tasted an asparagus spear, frowning uncertainly. "Come on, Eames," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "If you trusted him, we wouldn't be here. You think she can get to him."

"I think she's cold and calculating. She's turning on the charm to figure out how to manipulate him. I just don't know why." She took a small bite of her dinner. "And she has an advantage over him with her clinic work and her sick son at home."

"Because he has a soft heart."

"I admire his sensitivity. Sometime I even envy it. But it will be his undoing sooner or later."

Attempting to enjoy the potatoes, Logan said, "Most guys aren't sensitive enough, but sometimes, a guy can feel too much."

"I just hope his heart won't betray him," she replied as she watched her partner and the doctor. She was obviously flirting with him, and that made her stomach lurch. She was hearing all kinds of alarms in her head. Was he hearing them as well? She prayed he was, because something was not right, and she was not going to lose her partner to the likes of a woman like Connie Helprin.

* * *

Goren's sole intention in taking Connie to dinner had been to become more familiar with her so he could understand her motivations better. Her intention seemed to be getting to know him better as well only not in any way he had planned. Her bare foot continued to stroke his leg, interfering with his concentration. 

_I have to pull myself together,_ he thought, feeling a mixture of anxiety and frustration. "Please excuse me for a moment," he said, rising from his chair.

He made his way to the men's room, where he splashed his face with cold water and leaned heavily on the basin, listening to the water run. This was not going the way he had intended. She had him all worked up, and he still wasn't sure about what drove her, if her passion could have led her to murder. He drew in slow, deep, even breaths and closed his eyes.

_Okay, Goren. Keep cool. She's a suspect, __**not**__ a date._ In his mind a second voice taunted him. _But we're not certain she's a suspect. Maybe she's been targeted by whoever killed Torrington and Cooper._ Shaking his head he tried to dispel the conflicting opinions.

For the first time, he was questioning his motivation for being there with the pretty doctor. He was not a teenager. There was something more to the way he reacted to her. Maybe it was time to take her home...uh, to her home...drop her off. _Hell_...

Intent on finishing their date after dessert at the latest, he shook his head once more and turned off the faucet before leaving the rest room.

Returning to the table, Bobby offered her a smile as he sat down. She returned his smile. "Did something not agree with you?"

_Yes, that little voice in the back of my head...What the hell is your game?_ "I'm fine," he assured her. Determined to turn the conversation around to her, he asked, "So tell me...what drew you to internal medicine?"

Connie smiled as she raised her wine glass to her lips and took a sip. "I like puzzles," she replied. "I guess that's what drew me to you, too."

_Puzzles?_Was he really that difficult to figure out?Was it possible that she was trying to understand him, too? Why? He distracted himself from his thoughts by taking a drink of his scotch.

When she reached a hand across the table and touched his, his mind shorted out again, and he couldn't understand how she was able to do that to him. He caught his breath when her foot once more touched his ankle, this time finding its way to the bare skin of his calf above his sock. He took another drink.

She smiled at his sudden tension and set her wine glass on the table. "You were right. The duck is wonderful," she said lightly.

All he could do was offer her a smile as he tried to ignore her advances and think of something to say that she would not misinterpret. Not a thing came to mind, so he opted not to say anything. He was relieved when she pushed her plate aside. "I can't eat another bite," she said. Catching his eye, she purred seductively, "Of course, by the time we get back to my apartment, my appetite may very well be back."

He dropped his fork. That was it. He was done. "Uh ... if you're ready to go...?"

He felt a bit lightheaded. _Could it be the scotch...or is it her?_

When he got to his feet, he stumbled a little and frowned. This woman was affecting him on every level. He must have had more to drink than he realized. She had him so distracted, that was not a difficult conclusion for him to arrive at. He held her jacket for her.

She stepped into the light coat, taking care to brush her body against his. "What would you say to taking a walk in the park?"

_Bad idea,_ whispered the voice of reason in one part of his mind. _Let's go,_ said the devil's advocate in another part. Slipping into his own coat he found himself nodding and wondering when he'd decided to agree with her. Absently resting his hand against the small of her back, he guided her ahead of him toward the front of the restaurant. He bumped into a man speaking on his cell phone near the front door and muttered an apology as he continued past him. The man was involved in his conversation and didn't seem to notice him. As they turned out of the restaurant and walked toward the park on the next block, he found his attention drawn solely to her.

* * *

Eames was surprised to see her partner leave with the doctor before their meal was even finished. She did not trust Connie Helprin. Something was up. _What the hell is he doing?_ she wondered. 

Dropping enough cash on the table to cover their meal, she decided she could not wait for Logan to return to the table. He'd received a call from Falacci that he had to take, and he'd stepped away from the table to argue with his fiery partner. Searching for him, she gave up when she got to the front entrance without spotting him. Leaving the building, she had no trouble locating her partner and the doctor, and she took off down the street to follow them.

Logan returned to the table, shaking his head. _Falacci..._ he sighed. At first he thought Eames had gone to the rest room, but when he saw the bills sitting on the table, he looked toward the table where Goren and his date had been. They were gone, too. "Aw, hell," he muttered.

Signaling their waiter, he asked if he'd seen where Eames had gone. "I'm sorry, sir,. I didn't see the lady leave."

He tossed two twenties in with the bills she had left and hurried toward the front of the restaurant. After interrogating the maitre'd to find out if he had noticed either Goren or Eames leaving, he decided the man was useless and ran out onto the sidewalk.

Looking up and down the street, he saw neither of the partners. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Eames' number first, then Goren's. Neither one answered. "Now what the hell is the sense if having a damn phone if you don't answer it when someone calls," he complained.

He continued to look around and tried calling them again with the same result. "Damn!"

* * *

Connie walked close to his side, sliding her arm through his. Surprised, he allowed the contact, and he even found himself enjoying it. The little voice in the back of his head that screamed to remind him that this was a suspect was gradually fading until it finally fell silent. 

He heard her murmur something as they entered the park but her words did not register. Walking casually under old trees, they moved deeper into the park. It was late and there weren't many people around. An elderly couple passed them walking their dog, and a pair of teenagers chasing one another and laughing thundered by a few minutes later. No one paid attention to them.

Normally, even when his attention was drawn by a companion, Goren was aware of everything around him, but he found himself oddly unable to concentrate on more than one thing...her. Had he really had that much to drink?

She said something but his mind would not translate the sounds into words. His lightheadedness was getting worse, and that confused him as well. The voice in the back of his head, setting off alarm bells left and right, went ignored.

His cell phone rang, but its tones barely registered in his mind. He was aware of little around him, with the exception of the pretty doctor at his side.

"How are you feeling?" Connie asked when he didn't make a move to answer his phone.

He was feeling weird and he shook his head to clear it. Why was he having such trouble focusing?

"I really do like you, detective," she murmured close to his ear. "And I apologize for what I have to do, but you are too much of a liability to me."

He looked at her, confused. She blurred in his sight and then became clear again, just like her words did in his ears. "Uh...do? Do what?"

She smiled at him. "You're feeling it now, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Her words eased through into the small part of his brain that was still coherent. "Feeling...you...what did you do?"

"I just slipped something into your drink to relax you."

He stopped and she turned to face him, but before he could say anything, a voice called to him from further down the path. "Goren! Here you are..." Eames came trotting down the path toward them.

He frowned. What was she doing there? Now the alarms in his head were sounding full bore and he was listening to them. Eames was in danger, and that mattered to him. But the fog in his head wouldn't clear and he stumbled when he turned toward his partner.

Eames frowned when he stumbled. Had he had more to drink than she'd seen? Two scotches wouldn't do that to a man his size...unless Helprin had a hand in helping the alcohol along... "I'm sorry to bother you and your date," she said, glancing at Helprin. "But the captain sent me to find you when you didn't answer your phone. He wants to see us right away."

He studied her, swaying a little as he tried to focus on her. "Who?" he managed.

The unfocused look in his eyes disturbed her, and she knew then that he'd been drugged. She had to get him out of there, away from the doctor. She closed her hand around his arm. "Come on. Let's get going."

He blinked hard. "Go where?" he asked as he took two uncertain steps toward her.

Helprin stepped up, inserting herself between the partners and facing Eames. "Do you always interfere with your partner's dates, Detective Eames?"

Eames' eyes narrowed. "Forgive my intrusion, Dr. Helprin. But my partner and I have a job to do, and sometimes that job supersedes our private lives. I'm sure you can understand that."

"I will only tell you once," Helprin muttered to her. "Leave."

"Not without my partner."

"Then I'm sorry."

It was time. Helprin's eyes strayed past Eames but the detective did not see her give any signal. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two men approaching. They were deep in the park and there was no one around at this hour. They strode with purpose, and she knew that there was no way her partner could take them both in his condition.

Helprin nodded at the two men and they descended on Eames. In spite of his drug-induced confusion, Goren knew his partner was in danger and he jumped forward to her aid as one of them grabbed her. Goren swung hard, connecting with the man's jaw as Eames ducked her head away from his fist. The man spun away under the force of the blow, releasing Eames, who fell to the ground. She quickly regained her feet as Goren turned toward the other man, keeping himself between the assailant and the two women.

As he fumbled for his back-up piece, a third man appeared from out of nowhere, grabbing Eames from behind. She struggled against him, snarling, "Get off me!"

Goren spun in her direction, stumbling backwards a few steps. "Eames!"

The other two men descended on him as he lurched forward toward her. He went down. "Bobby!"

The struggle didn't last long, but Helprin was surprised by the amount of fight in Goren in spite of the drugs she had slipped him. She watched him break free once more, stumbling forward a few steps toward the man who held Eames fast. He hit the ground hard, tried to get up once more, and finally collapsed and lay still.

"Bobby!" Eames called to him again. Then she glared at Helprin, eyes bright with fury. "What did you give him?"

"Nothing life threatening, I promise," Helprin replied.

Eames couldn't help but feel the life threatening part was yet to come as she continued to struggle against the man who held her. She watched the two men haul Goren up between them as Helprin said, "Let's go, boys."

The man holding her had no trouble pushing her along toward a van hidden by bushes not far away. As they hauled Goren into the back of the van, Helprin pulled a black bag from the front seat. Leaning over Goren, she injected the contents of a syringe into his shoulder. Returning to the bag, she then turned toward Eames, who began to struggle harder. But the gorilla behind her held her fast. Helprin said, "I gave you a chance to leave."

She saw the detective's eyes dart toward her unconscious partner. "Ah...unwilling to leave him, huh? Well, now you'll be together, and suffer the same fate. I am sorry, detective."

She injected the contents of the second syringe from her bag into Eames' shoulder. By the time she was shoved into the back of the van, the drugs were working. The door closed and she rolled toward Goren, stopping when her body came into contact with him. As she draped her arm across his torso, the van began to move. She remembered nothing else.


	7. Space Aliens and Mutant Tigers

**A/N: We apologize for the long delay between updates. We will try to post the next one much sooner. Thanks for sticking with us!**

* * *

Eames woke up very slowly. She felt disconnected and struggled to recall what had happened. She felt like she was floating, but she didn't feel wet. Struggling to sit up, she found herself bound by the wrists to a point above her head. As she became more aware, she realized she was on a bed. In addition to her wrists, she found herself bound at the ankles, which restricted her ability to move.

_What the hell...?_

She had no idea where she was or how she got there. Looking around, she tried to penetrate the darkness, but it was complete. As the fog rolled away from her brain, memories began drifting back...dinner with Logan...watching her partner with Connie Helprin...the doctor's seductive attitude...seeing him leave with her...following them to the park... "Bobby?" she whispered, remembering that Helprin drugged him and he'd collapsed fighting against her gorillas.

There was no answer and she continued to struggle against her bonds. She had to get out of there and find her partner. They had to get away from Helprin._ ...suffer the same fate... _She shuddered to think what that could mean and continued to struggle against the restraining bonds.

Helprin had warned her to leave, but she was not willing to go without Goren. And he had gone down defending her. Locked in the grip of whatever drugs Helprin had slipped to him, he was still able to fight a good fight...for her. The thought simultaneously choked her up and annoyed her. But then again, Goren had a tendency to affect her that way.

She struggled some more, until the burning pain in her wrists made her stop for awhile. It did not seem likely she was going to be able to get out of her bonds, but she was not about to give up trying. She had to get free and find Goren. Once they were out of this mess, then she would worry about trying to knock some sense into him. Mike Logan's comment came back to her. _Dating a suspect...that's a new approach._

She swallowed a laugh. Was she losing it? The darkness was oppressive, engulfing her like a pillow, smothering her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her surroundings, listening for the smallest sound that might give her a clue of anything. But like the darkness, the silence also was complete. She tried to distract herself by focusing on Connie Helprin. What possible motive could she have for kidnapping and holding her and Goren? Were they closer to discovery than she was comfortable with? Could she possibly be responsible for the murders of Torrington and Cooper? If Goren had any inkling of that, she was going to seriously hurt him for putting himself out on a limb like that. When you have a maneater cornered and in a desperate rage, you don't continue poking at it with sticks until it eats you. _Dammit, Bobby..._

Teetering on the brink of despair, she caught her breath, thinking she heard something. Straining in the darkness to see and to hear, she tried to penetrate the murkiness, to no avail. Then she heard it again. Staggered and irregular, but unmistakable, it was the sound of someone struggling to breathe. She willed the breathing to become regular, and when a quiet groan accompanied the struggle, she knew who was in the room with her. He'd gotten his poking stick knocked away, and she wondered what he was going to do about it. Straining against her bonds to turn in the direction of the sounds, she quietly called, "Bobby?"

He did not answer.

* * *

Logan was pacing the sidewalk impatiently, waiting for his partner to arrive. The few inquiries he had made turned up nothing. He had found Goren's car half a block north of the restaurant--the guy always seemed to have better luck with parking than he did, and a quick call to find out what Helprin drove led him to find her car a block and a half to the west.

"All right, Logan. What's up? And this better be good because I had to leave my husband home alone with a sick, cranky kid."

Logan spun around, not expecting her to come up behind him. He was frowning and his face was dark with concern. "They're gone, Falacci."

She continued to stare at him. "Gone? Who's gone?"

"Goren and Eames."

Her face became stormy. "You called me from home because they took off together? Maybe they finally listened to the rumors..."

"Do you think I'd call you out because they're shacking up? Give me some credit, will you? I was with Eames, shadowing Goren, and when I got back to the table after taking your call, they were gone."

"Did you try calling them?"

"Calling them? What an original idea, Falacci. I should have thought of that. Of course, I called them! Neither of them answered. Neither Goren nor his date finished eating, and both of their cars are still parked nearby."

Falacci raised her eyebrows. "He was on a date, and he left the restaurant with her. I wouldn't answer my phone either. Eames talked you into this because she's jealous?"

Logan was quickly losing patience with his partner. "No, Falacci. Eames is not the jealous type."

"So she was on a date with you and you ran her off? Good job, Cyrano. You called me away from my family because Goren and Eames have independent private lives. Thanks so much."

Logan grumbled under his breath for a moment, pacing to force himself to settle down. "I wasn't on a date and neither was Goren, Sigmund. Sometimes a banana isn't a banana. He was playing up a suspect, and I think this one caught him offguard. That was why we were shadowing him. Eames was concerned..."

"About his judgment?"

"About his invincibility complex. Both cars are still here..."

"Because they took a cab? Were they drinking?"

"She had wine and he had a scotch, but neither of them had enough to impair them. This reeks to high Heaven, Falacci. I have a really bad feeling about this."

"All right, Logan. Let's check it out. But when we find Goren and his date making out in the park and Eames at home in bed, you're taking my husband and me out to dinner."

"Fine. Whatever. Come on."

As he led his partner away from the restaurant, Logan had a really bad feeling he would not have to make good on that deal.

* * *

Breathe in, then out...then nothing...a gasp for air...Concentrating on breathing, Goren worked his way back from the drug-induced darkness. Opening his eyes, he was dismayed to find his surroundings almost as dark and oppressive. He began to slip back toward the murky depths of unconsciousness again, but something grabbed his attention, drawing him back toward consciousness.

He tried to move, swallowing a mild panic when he found himself restrained. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel the room around him spinning and his stomach lurched. He focused on his senses to ground him. Sight was useless, and his surroundings continued to spin as his mind dipped in and out of a fog. It was a dizzying ride, and he was kind of glad he couldn't see anything. The air was musty, like a basement would be, and damp. He ran his tongue over his lips and winced, tasting blood. He still had to work to breathe, and he turned his attention to listening. He heard the scurrying of tiny rodent feet and the dripping of water somewhere else in the basement. And he heard movement, which put him on edge because he could not identify the source.

He struggled to figure out how he'd ended up where he was. He remembered dinner with Connie Helprin. She'd been...arduous, and that confused and distracted him. She wanted to go for a walk in the park, and after that, everything became muddled. The room began to spin faster as he tried to recall anything that had happened in the park. Where was Connie? Had something happened to her? The tip of his tongue skimmed over the cut in his lip. _The captain...wants to see us..._ In the park...Eames!

He struggled against his restraints again, then fell back on the mattress, dizzy and starting to slip again toward the fog lingering at the edge of his consciousness and threatening to overtake him. He groaned softly and muttered his partner's name.

"Bobby?"

"Eames? Where...where are you?"

She didn't miss the way his tongue tripped over the words, and she wondered again what drugs Helprin had used to subdue him. "I have no idea where I am.. Do you?"

"No. I...I'm sorry, Eames."

_He's always sorry,_ she thought, annoyed. "You can't say that I didn't warn you," she said and wished a second later she would have kept her comment to herself..

He fell silent at her rebuke and stared off into the darkness, willing himself not to get sick. He said nothing more.

His mind was spinning as a hundred questions swirled through it. He had hoped having dinner with Connie would answer some of them, but it only served to generate more. And now...look what he'd done. Not only was he in danger, but he led Eames right into it as well. Sometimes, he was the one who regretted her decision to withdraw that long-ago request for a new partner.

His head was throbbing and he found himself seeking the fog that teased his mind, wanting to slip into its oblivion. He closed his eyes. His mind and his stomach were spinning and lurching in synchrony, and he was still finding that he had to concentrate on breathing to get it right. The fog he sought hung at the edge of his consciousness, neither retreating nor encroaching, and his mind reached for it.

"Bobby?" Eames broke the silence. She hated the cadence of his breathing; it didn't sound right to her. Shallow and irregular, she found herself counting the seconds between each breath he took, and that time was getting longer. "Bobby, please answer me."

"What do you want me to say, Eames?"

"Are you all right?"

Her mind was swamped with images from the park. Over and over, like a movie on rewind, she watched him fight for both their lives. She remembered the unfocused look in his eyes and the disjointed rhythm of his speech. She watched the drugs overtake him as Helprin's thugs took him down. Now she waited for his reply.

"I'm... no, I'm not okay, Eames."

"Are you in pain?"

"No. Please, Eames...I don't want to talk about it. I feel sick, and I just want to lay here. I really am sorry I got you into this. I...I really screwed up this time."

Eames bit her tongue, tempted to agree with him. "Your curiosity is insatiable. You have a need to understand the most twisted minds, and when one comes along that you can't grasp, you go to whatever lengths you have to so you can understand. It's what makes you so good at what you do."

"It's not the first time my curiosity has come back to bite me in the ass... but this time I took you down, too, and that's inexcusable."

She had to admit that he was right, but she wouldn't admit it out loud. He carried enough guilt. She knew what was coming next. He was going to try to convince Helprin to let her go, at the cost of his own life. It wasn't a sacrifice she was willing to let him make, but he was not going to give her a choice. He never did. If he could not think of a way to get them both out of this, he would find some way to get her out.

His breathing evened out a little and became more difficult to hear. "Bobby?"

He didn't answer, and she felt a panic rise in her. She would feel better if she could see him. She called out to him, a little louder, more urgently. She heard him move, though his mobility was restricted. "What is it, Eames?" he asked, his voice groggy.

"S-stay with me, please."

"Where am I going to go?"

"Sometimes...you turn so far inside your head I'm not sure I'll ever reach you."

He was quiet as he considered her words. The fog still beckoned to him, but her desperation was stronger. "I'll never go that far, Eames. I won't leave you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes. That's a promise."

The fog now lingered very close, and he let it come.

* * *

Logan had no idea where to start. He paced the sidewalk, thoughts racing. "Come on, Falacci. Let's head down the street. Maybe someone saw them."

"No one in the restaurant saw them leave?"

"I'm sure a number of people saw them, but no one noticed them. About the only thing I am sure about right now is that they did leave the restaurant."

Falacci sighed. "I think we're chasing our tails here, Logan. Eames is probably home in bed by now, and Goren's showing his lady friend a good time. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, if that was what went down. But it's not. I'm sure of it."

Falacci was about to tell him he was being ridiculous, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He was genuinely worried, and he would not be satisfied until he found them. If he was anything, Logan was loyal to his friends. "All right, Mike. Let's check out their cars and see what turns up there. We can canvass the area and see if anyone noticed them."

He looked relieved. "Thanks, Falacci."

* * *

Eames was worried. Goren was not responding to her, and his breathing had become so shallow she couldn't hear it. She wrestled with her bonds, to no avail, and tried to keep the rising panic she felt at bay. "Dammit, Bobby!"

Finally, he answered. "What'd I do now?"

She frowned. Something was definitely wrong. His words came out slurred and she didn't like that. "You didn't answer me."

"I jus' did."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." He was quiet for a moment. "My head hurts, and I feel sick."

"Why are you having such a hard time clearing your head? I'm not."

He moved his arms. "I, uh...I think there's an IV line in my left arm. I don't think she trusts me."

That would explain the continued respiratory problems as well as the nausea and confusion. "I can't say that I blame her," she commented. "You're not a typical cop."

"She's a...psychopath, but she's smart. And she has resources. It won't be easy...to out smart her."

"I have faith in you," she answered.

"I'm afraid your faith is misplaced, Eames."

"Don't say that, Bobby. Maybe Logan will figure out what happened."

"Logan? What's he got to do with this?"

"Um, he and I had dinner at the same restaurant you and Connie did."

Goren was quiet for a minute as his blurry mind processed her revelation. "You...you're dating Logan?"

"Bite your tongue, Goren. He was just being a friend."

"Why were you...uh, Eames, were you...tailing me?"

Even when he wasn't at his best, he could shine. "We were just keeping an eye on you."

Another pause, then he said, "That turned out well."

She couldn't help laughing at that. But the seriousness of their dilemma came back quickly. "I'm not sorry," she confessed. "At least I know where you are."

"That's not reassuring, Eames. You should have left well enough alone."

"Who was it that had to tempt fate by dating our primary suspect for two murders?" she snapped back. "Just how far did that get you, Goren?"

He fell silent after that and she could not coax any further conversation from him. An occasional shifting of position or a quiet grunt reassured her that he was at least alive, and she had to be content with that for the moment.

* * *

Logan and Falacci got a myriad assortment of answers from the people they canvassed about Goren and Eames' disappearance. One man who called a park bench home told them they'd been abducted by space aliens, and a junkie told them they'd been eaten by mutant tigers and would be reincarnated as pigeons.

Falacci dragged Logan away from each man before she started laughing. "This isn't a joking matter, Falacci," Logan insisted. "I have a feeling they are in real trouble. We have to find them."

"All right, Logan. Do you want to tackle the maneating mutant tigers or the space aliens?"

"Let's just keep asking."

It amazed Logan how little people noticed in the city. Complacency won high marks on the city streets. Finally, someone recognized Goren's description and told them he saw the big guy walking toward the park with his girl, a classy chick with long hair. It looked to him like the guy'd had quite enough to drink, too. That comment disturbed Logan. He'd been out with Goren several times, and he knew how much the guy could put away before he showed any effects. He was nowhere even close to his limit with what he'd had to drink in the restaurant.

As they headed toward the park, they passed the spot where Helprin's car had been parked. Logan stopped and studied the canary yellow Porshe that occupied the space Helprin's Mercedes had not long ago. "Wait here, Falacci."

Logan trotted to the end of the block and turned the corner. She waited for him to return. "Helprin's car was parked right there, and now it's gone, but Goren's car is still around the corner."

"So he went home with her? Or maybe she took him home? No shock there. You said he was drinking."

Logan shook his head slowly. "No. I don't think he went with her. Not willingly. And his binder's on the front passenger seat."

"And? Does that mean something?"

"That binder's his security blanket. He never goes anywhere without it. It's got his casenotes, crime scene reports and photos...he wouldn't have left it behind. And Eames certainly didn't pop up and invite herself along. Where did he go?"

"See those yellow things crawling the streets? They're called cabs. Why are you so certain something bad happened to them?"

"I've been a cop for over twenty years, Falacci. You don't do the job for that long without developing some kind of sixth sense about it. When the radar goes off, you learn to listen to it."

"And your radar has never been wrong?"

"I'm not wrong. Come on."

They continued toward the park, Logan worried and Falacci wanting to just go home and tuck her kids in. Talking out loud as they entered the park, Logan said, "She was turning up the heat on him, flirting up a storm and kicking it up a notch."

"Kicking it up how far?"

"If it had been me, I'd have been tempted to find a bathroom someplace and let her fulfill her promise."

"You're a pig, Logan."

"I'm a guy, sweetheart, and we can only take so much teasing before we need a woman to put up or shut up."

"Oh, really? And if she chooses to shut up?"

He grinned at her. "Then we find a woman who'll follow through with it."

Falacci rolled her eyes as they entered the park. There were not too many people in the park, and they talked briefly to each person they encountered. Logan watched a middle-aged couple with a big German Shepherd play with the dog. He strolled up to them. "Excuse me? I'm looking for a couple of friends and I was wondering if you've seen them. The guy's a big one, tall and broad, graying dark hair. The woman's small, blond. They might have been with another woman, a tall brunette."

The man nodded. "I remember. The big fella and the brunette went down that way. He was drunk and she was talkin' real sweet to him. The little blond wasn't too far behind. The women kind of got into an argument, so we took the dog and moved on. He goes nuts when people fight. Can't stand it. So we took him to the other side of the park."

"That's all you saw?"

"Sorry we can't help you more. That's all we saw."

"Thanks."

As they headed in the direction the man indicated, Logan called Goren's phone again, but it went directly to voicemail. "Either his phone's dead or off," he grumbled, dialing Eames' number.

He was just noticing the disturbances in the gravel and the grass that indicated a fight might have taken place there when her phone began to ring. He met Falacci's surprised look when the bushes beside the path erupted with the singsong of a cell phone's ring. He swore. "I think I'll take the space aliens," he muttered.


End file.
